It’s hard to believe that anyone but scholars of modern literature or paid critics have read W.H. Auden’s dramatic poem “The Age of Anxiety” all the way through, even though it won a Pulitzer Prize in 1948, the year after it was published. It is a difficult work — allusive, allegorical, at times surreal. But more to the point, it’s boring. The characters meet, drink, talk and walk around; then they drink, talk and walk around some more. They do this for 138 pages; then they go home.

The husband and I are trying to recollect the details about an incident in the '92 campaign, where a Clinton supporter asked Bill if he would be a father to the American people. I can't find anything about it on Google yet. The husband seems to think it happened in the primaries.

I'm sure the little red hen Kathleen would like to bake the State a pie, but there wasn't enough political power flour from the unionized mill for an apple pie and the Governor's bread, and sometime a Gov-Mother has to make tough choices.